


The Empty Sky

by FaiaHae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universes, Based around the Huntocar arc of nightvale, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, M/M, Multi, Nightvale AU, Peapod McHanzo Week, Radio Host Jesse McCree, Shimada reunion, at least that's how it started
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-28 03:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaiaHae/pseuds/FaiaHae
Summary: Hanzo's out of his element in every possible way- out in the desert, called out by a cryptic letter from a brother who'd dissapeared years ago, following a voice on the radio and a pull in his gut.Deadlock Gorge is like nothing he ever could have expected





	1. All roads lead-

Hanzo was only  _ mostly  _ sure he was still driving in the right direction. His GPS had been bugging out for the last mile or two, and when he’d broken out his compass he found it’s needle spinning in irreverent circles. 

 

So he kept on, a little bit of map guidance and a lot of gut instinct. Something was pulling him forward. He’d dismiss it as heat exhaustion, or wishful thinking, but there was a faint twinge in the tattoo around his arm that told him otherwise. It was a mental effort to keep the dragons in the tattoo- to keep them from roaring off into the sand in the direction of the strange pull.  He understood much more how Genji had ended up in the middle of the American desert. He’d dismissed it at first, but he’d felt the pull in his gut since the last of the buildings had dropped out behind him. Genji had disappeared from a business meeting in Santa Fe years ago, somehow gone completely. Hanzo thought he understood much better now why. He could imagine his brother- still young, a hat clamped down over his hair. He’d taken a walk. Hanzo saw him hit the edge of the desert in his mind eye- and just keeping on. The pull in the soles of his feet. 

 

Genji’d last been seen four miles north, stealing a motorcycle. 

 

The thought actually brought Hanzo a flash of amusement, his hand clutching unconsciously around the letter. The letter that said a whole lot of things that didn’t make any sense, with coordinates that dropped him in the middle of the desert. 

 

Still, it had arrived, with a return address that no postal company would deliver to, and Hanzo went. 

He was sure no one would be able to find him again, either.

 

The thought shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was. 

 

The radio fizzed and spat, startling Hanzo out of his reverie. He looked down at it- screen still black. Then, as though noticing his stare, the lights came on. A scroll of green text- Deadlock Gorge Community Radio. 

 

Hanzo tensed. The address. The town. 

 

_ “...A stranger’s coming into town today, folks. Not a stranger to some of us, though, and he won’t be to the rest of us for long. So no worries, alright sweetheart? We’ll treat you kind.” _

 

The hair on the back of Hanzo’s neck stood up. There was the sense of someone looking at him. He could feel eyes meeting his, looking him dead on. There was nothing ahead of him- save a smudge on the horizon. 

 

It was a sign.  **Deadlock Gorge.**

 

The dragons were fighting him, and the tattoo was ablaze. The voice kept on, a slow harmony with every word. 

 

_ “We are all strange things here. No need to hide. Might get your intentions all wrong if you do.” _

 

Hanzo’s concentration slipped, and there was a surge of lightning across the dashboard of his cars. It made an alarming noise- but Hanzo forgot for a moment about the car completely, as two streaks of blue light took off towards the horizon. Hanzo swore, flooring it. The car let out an angry screech, but somehow he could still hear the radio perfectly. 

 

_ “So, on a related note- Traffic. There’s a man coming into town. His car’s set to give out in a mile or two, almost make it to Old Man Morrison’s before it breaks down. Someone should be out there to give him a hand when it does.” _

 

___

 

Hanzo was utterly unsurprised when the car gave out, and for a moment he did nothing, just stared out straight through his windshield. 

 

The town was in view now, a sprawl of buildings against an empty skyline. His dragons were still going- a blue glow almost invisible against the sky, veering unmistakably towards the radio tower. 

 

Then his view was blocked out by a huge black van, pulling towards him. 

He went rigid, years of training in the yakuza screaming at him to get to his sword or his bow in the back, but the thought of his sword brought a wave of something in his chest.

 

The world went black for a moment, wiped out by a gut-wrenching wave of fear and pain. He was lost in it, a surge that felt utterly foreign and yet bafflingly familiar. 

 

“-alright?”

Hanzo blinked. His car door was open. There was a man in a black balaclava holding it. There were worried wrinkles around his eyes, a few distorted scars against dark skin. Hanzo was blanking. Never in his life had he been this lost for words. The man’s eyes wrinkled further. 

 

“Well, you’re no interloper. Better call off the helicopters. Come on. Jesse wants to see you.”

“Jesse?” Hanzo choked out.

 

The man gave a dismissive wave towards the radio, where the voice was rhapsodizing about the colors of the sky. 

“Him.”

“How does he know...me?” Hanzo couldn’t see much of the man’s face, but the eye roll was clear enough.

“Christ, didn’t you hear him?”

 

_ “The stranger’s arrived folks, and he’s just beautiful. Hair like a black silk sheet, and arms muscled with the slopes of infinity signs. Genji’s lied to us, folks, his brother’s definitely the better mark-” _

 

Hanzo stared numbly at the radio. It went on at length about his virtues. There was no further mention of Genji. Hanzo swallowed.

 

“Right. Take me to Jesse.”


	2. Take care of him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm an idiot who deleted the old version of this chapter and reposted the edited version instead of editing it in the doc because..I'm an idiot. 
> 
> Updated version of chapter 2 for tonal fixes!! sorry to everyone who's already read this (I'll post chapter 3 tomorrow or tonight as a better apology)

The silence felt like a living thing in the car, pressing a palm to Hanzo’s lips to keep them sealed and a hand to the back of his neck to keep him looking forward. Something shifted behind the metal grate behind him. It ratted as they went over divots in the road. Out of the corner of his eye, a gleam of gold kept a watch on him, even as the driver of the car kept his eyes on the road.

 

It was a golden star- a sheriff’s badge. It bore a crescent moon that cut into Hanzo like a pupil. He avoided meeting it’s gaze, watching the town roll by out the window as they neared the radio tower.

He had a brief moment of understanding as to why the dragons had been drawn to it. It was a beacon against the darkening sky, the red light at its summit flashing in the dim that bloomed in the void.

 

The car rolled up outside of the radio station and Hanzo got out, trying not to notice the way the pebbles along the ground were shaking, even as the earth held still under the soles of his feet. There was only so much he could handle today.  
  
The Sheriff cleared his throat, and Hanzo paused, his hand on the door to close it behind him.

“He’s a good kid.” The man said, awkwardly.

“Take care of him.”

 

And then the door was out of Hanzo’s palm and closed, and the car was disappearing down the darkening road. Hanzo blinked, sure he’d missed a moment or two. Zoned out. That...didn’t happen to him.

 

He shrugged it off- sleep deprivation and jetlag, surely- and started up the steps to the radio station.

 

__

 

The lobby was...oddly mundane. The dark wooden floors looked freshly polished, the boy at the reception desk with his feet on the counter bobbed his head along to a tune in bright green headphones. The lobby was quiet, save for the distant roll of baritone coming from another radio speaker somewhere in another room. Hanzo took a hesitant step further towards the text.

 

The man behind the counter kept bobbing his head, eyes focused on a ceiling tile with a focus unbefitting of his loose posture. Hanzo opened his mouth to get his attention, but found himself closing it again. Silly. Why would it matter- he steeled himself, and took another step forward-...

 

And let out a surprised screech as a hand fell onto his shoulder.

“The newcomer! Let me take you to Jesse. It’s about time for-”

 

“- _And now, The Weather._ ”

Speakers came on around them, set somewhere into the ceiling, and music filled the room.

The boy behind the counter didn’t take out his headphones, only continued to study the ceiling, and Hanzo looked away to focus on the girl currently holding his shoulder.

 

Brown eyes met his, steady, and the woman tipped her head. Gold beads in her hair caught the light. She raised an eyebrow- as though he were the one being strange.

“Are you coming?”

 

Hanzo nodded. It felt like the right thing to do.

She released his shoulder and started down one of the hallways to the left, and he fell into step beside her. A flight of stairs, past a bathroom door that made something in his arm pulse like radar, and to a door marked _Studio: Voice of Deadlock Gorge._

She pushed it open.

 

“Mind the wires.”

 

Hanzo forgot about the wires.

He forgot about the desert, and he forgot about Genji, and he forgot about his compass needle still spinning, and the car, and the sheriff.

 

There was nothing else in the world but the man at the microphone.

 

Warm brown eyes stared into his, an awestruck expression softening worn features. He had a wild beard, soft brown hair that fell around his shoulders. Warm, sun kissed skin, complemented perfectly by a red flannel that fit perfectly around his broad shoulders.

 

Hanzo’s heart stopped.

 

He fell in love instantly.

 

And then a dragon made a soft chirp from where it was wrapped around the man’s lifted forearm, and Hanzo caught the blue flash of the other hiding behind the brim of the cowboy hat tucked over those brown curls. A snout lifted to stare at him.

“-You little-” Hanzo took a step forward, fully intending to grab the dragon in his fist and _stuff it_ back into the tattoo if he had to, but on the second stride his foot caught on a wire.

 

He had a brief moment of clarity where he remembered the warning and swore that if he didn’t knock himself unconscious on the desk and blissfully knock the memory of this from his head, he was _never returning here._ But the impact with the floor never came, and the seconds seemed to slow. Something seemed to displace in front of him, and instead of coming down forehead-first into a sharp piece of electronic equipment he came down in a tangle of sweet smelling soft....something.

 

He didn’t fully register what until a hand came up behind him, touching his shoulder blade with a warm palm.

 

“You alright, sugar?”

Hanzo stiffened. Fuck. Fuck. FUckfuckfuckfuck.

He lifted his head, and the radio host’s face was _so close_ and he was somehow more blindingly beautiful and Hanzo fell back onto his heels abruptly, pulling himself out of the other man’s arms.

“I am SO sorry- how did you-”

 

Hanzo looked around, frantically. They were in front of the desk. Jesse has definitely been behind the desk- Jesse, shit. Jesse was backing off, looking worried, pulling his hands back.   
“Jumped the table, hon- You alright there? It can be a little disorienting, getting into town sometimes-”

  
“Did-” no. No, he could absolutely not say that out loud. He could absolutely not ask, out loud, if time had just slowed down. No. He could absolutely not, under any circumstances, say that.

 

“-Did you want to meet me?”

Jesse still looked worried, but he smiled as he stood, a little more at ease.

“Just wanted to return your guardians to ya, pumpkin.” He tipped his hat, spilling one of them into his lap. Hanzo glowered. Cracked horn. Soba. Soba met his eyes, saw the contents of him, all the way down to his soul, and fled into the tattoo.

 

Another stream of blue light slipped from the desk, dissipating in the air, and Hanzo stood on own, waving off Jesse as he moved to assist, hardening his heart and clinging to his pride.

“I am sorry for any inconvenience they have caused you- I have caused you- we have all...caused you.”

He got an easy smile in response that nearly stopped his heart.

 

“No trouble at all. Oh- nearly forgot-”

Jesse turned around, fishing on his desk. After a moment of shuffling and papers falling to the floor, he held up a dark blue rectangle triumphantly and presented it to Hanzo. He had to remind himself to take it like a normal person.

 

It was a business card- in curling, hard to read black font it read: Dark Owl Records.

  
There was a small symbol underneath that looked like a honeycomb. Hanzo blinked at it for a moment, then smiled vaguely up at Jesse.

 

“Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure what he was thanking him for, but it felt...appropriate.

“No trouble. So stranger-...”

Jesse tipped his head, and the light caught his features. His eyes seemed to glow a soft gold in the light from the window, every curl of his hair in perfect definition. Hanzo felt winded.  


“-What’s your name?”

 

Jesse looked completely genuine, just a touch nervous about getting an answer. But surely he’d known. The description on the radio-

 

There was an audible click, the weather tape switching off and the music stopping. The red on-air sign came back on and Jesse grimaced. Hanzo heard the door open behind him, the woman surely back to guide him out.

 

“Hanzo.”

It had to have been too soft to hear, but Jesse’s grin lit up like the sun. He tipped his hat and moved back to the microphone, but Hanzo could still feel the warmth of Jesse’s gaze on his back as he obeyed the gestures of the woman at the door and let the door close behind him.

 

He held the card tight in his palm.

A beginning, then.

Of what, he didn’t dare to hope.


	3. Dark Owl Records

Dark Owl records was a sleek black oil slick in the row of businesses on main street. Where most of the buildings Hanzo had passed were friendly shades of beige and blue, Dark Owl was almost vibrantly black. There were painted wings arched over the door, sculpted talons striking down in a manner that was distinctly unfriendly. But the windows were full of records, and there was a golden honeycomb painted on the glass panel in the door.

 

So Hanzo took a moment to center himself, like his father had once taught him, and pushed open the door.

 

“What do _you_ want?”

Hanzo stopped on the threshold, looking up.

  
There were no other customers. The girl behind the counter really was talking to him.

“I’m..sorry?” He gave her the benefit of the doubt anyway. She rolled her eyes, blowing a huge pink bubble.

“What are you _here_ for? 거기 꺼져! You clearly can’t appreciate real music.”

“I...suppose I cannot.”

 

He’d never taken much to instruments, despite attempts to learn. That was...true enough.

She took a second to regard him, blowing another bubble. It got bigger and bigger, and eclipsed her face for the a moment.

  
It popped. She spun in her seat.

“Yeah, okay. You can stay.”

“Thank you?”

She waved him off, snapping her fingers. A bell rang in the back of the shop, and Hanzo froze as a voice rang out.

 

“What is it Hana? I swear I’m not scaring off another customer-”

She rolled her eyes, shooting Hanzo an imploring look, as though there were a joke that only the two of them understood.

 

“Someone’s here to see you.”

“Who?”

Hana rolled her eyes.

 

“Well if you bothered listening to Jesse’s show today you’d already _know-_ ”

“You stole my radio a week ago!” Genji’s voice was so close, and when he pushed aside a violet curtain behind the desk Hanzo felt like the wind had been knocked from him.

 

Genji looked the same as the day he’d left. His hair was still fluorescent green- damn him- the same dramatic grimace. He wore a torn shirt from some band Hanzo had never heard of. He lifted his head-

 

As their eyes met, Hanzo’s vision tunneled. He saw his brother, in the garb of a wandering Samurai, a darkness in his eyes like he’d never known, his arms metal instead of flesh. He could smell smoke, bombs, heard a crazed laugh echo bounce off of the courtyard walls. 

 

“-Genji?”

 

_ “I am not your brother anymore.” _

 

“-You will always-”

 

He saw his blade, felt it in his palm. He saw Genji before him, bleeding, screaming. The walls around him gave out, he felt the winter chill through the dojo they’d grown up in. He heard Genji scream. He-

 

“-Hanzo? Hanzo!”

His brother, before him. Unharmed. Whole.

The ceiling tiles were lined with ebony. Why was he looking at the ceiling? He blinked, trying to orient himself. He was on the ground. He must have fallen. Genji. The record shop. Genji was fine. Why wouldn’t he be?

 

He pushed aside the memories of swords and blood, and tried to sit up.

“Easy-” Genji steadied him, holding his arm.

“-Sorry.” The word tasted odd on his tongue, like it wasn’t something he was accustomed to saying. Was it?

  
Two lives stretched before and ahead of him, and he tried to sort through the odd sense that there had just been another set of memories- there and then gone. Gone. He clenched his hands and took a deep breath.

  
“I am fine, Genji.”

“You had better be!” Genji pulled him to his feet, grinning, and threw his arms around Hanzo’s shoulders. Hanzo’s arms went up automatically, returning the gesture. Strange. Strange, but welcome.

“ _-Some of you called in worried about how that little reunion was going to go. Well don’t worry none, they’re hugging it out. Hanzo only hesitated a moment, muscled arms lifting slow- as though they hold a weight he’s been carrying far too long._

 

_Not that I think for a moment there’s many- more literal- weights those arms can’t lift. Any sculptor would be lucky to have him as a subject-”_

 

Genji didn’t let go of Hanzo, even as his brother tensed.

“Hana. Couldn’t you have just let us have a moment?”

 

“No-pe.” She popped the P like another one of her bubbles, waving the radio at them.

Genji sighed, releasing Hanzo reluctantly.

“This is a terrible job. She’s a terrible boss.”

 

Hana rolled her eyes at Hanzo.

“His terrible boss is giving him the day off. GG. Get out.”

Genji gave her a dramatic salute and pulled Hanzo out towards the street- the last of the broadcast following them through the door.

  
“- _Well. Here from the radio tower, your pining host, Jesse McCree. Goodnight, Deadlock Gorge. Goodnight.”_


	4. Divergence

Night in the gorge was painted in neon and starlight. The street was dark save the faint lights from windows and the curls of signs. When Hanzo looked up he could still see the radio tower, framed an even darker black against the sky. 

 

Genji caught the trajectory of his glance and let out a snort, tugging Hanzo along the opposite direction down the street.

Hanzo turned away from the radio tower-

 

He stopped.

 

The desert had been flat the whole approach.

It had stretched out to the skyline, with hardly the stray building. Even the town had hardly made an impression against the landscape until they were up to it. 

The land had been so flat he’d almost forgotten the shapes of mountains, the landscapes of home flattening out in his memory.

 

But here- not even a block away-

 

The land dropped away. 

 

The gorge.

 

Hanzo reminded himself to take a breath. There were buildings below, lit paths crawling up the sides of the canyon and illuminating the strata of long crushed rock. Mostly...homes? A school, with a scrubland field marked in white paint. Genji was already heading towards the drop, hands in his pockets, humming. 

 

By the time his brother caught up, Genji had already shifted his trajectory and was walking along a paved (cracked, broken) sidewalk parallel to the fall of the canyon. The houses fell behind around a bend, and Hanzo caught a glance at the sheer  _ emptiness  _ past the second platform of the canyon. The- well, he presumed it was a residential district- was sheltered. Here there was only the road below them, and then....

 

Genji grabbed his shoulder. 

 

“Don’t look too long.”

His voice sounded oddly serious, so Hanzo wrenched his eyes away from the darkness and looked up.

 

He nearly tripped.

Genji laced their elbows together, dragging him forward with all the cheerful insistence of a younger sibling who was  _ doing this deliberately. _

 

“What.” Hanzo managed,

“Is that.”

 

“What’s what?” Genji’s voice was back to normal, if a few shades more smug.

“That.” Hanzo gestured with the arm not in Genji’s very cheerful vice grip.

 

The road below them wound too tightly for comfort around the void of the canyon depths, but it ended in a blaze of neon light with curling letters that read  _ Panorama Diner. _

 

But the diner- bright as it was- wasn’t what caught Hanzo’s attention.

That dubious honor went to the colored lights hanging in the sky about a hundred feet in the air above the cliff’s edge- just above the highest arc of the Panorama’s sign. 

 

Genji shrugged.

“No one knows.”

“What?”

“No one knows. Come on, get in the train.”

“Get-?”

 

Genji’s arm tightened around Hanzo’s even more- like a very enthusiastic boa constrictor. Hanzo still nearly managed to stop, and it was only due to his distraction that he didn’t pull Genji over backwards as he tried to tug him on. 

 

There was, indeed, a train.

 

No train station, no tracks, but there it was- a black hypertrain collapsed off the side of the gorge. Genji was standing by the entrance to its back car- Hanzo could look into the body and see in the flickering red lights that you could walk down its body as an improvised ramp. This piece ended next to the diner- across the pavement below was the other train cars, a barrier between road and darkness. 

 

“Is this safe?”

No, that wasn’t quite what he meant to ask. He stepped forward into the body to examine it, studying the workmanship of the metal panelling inside.

“Where did this come from?”

That was better. 

 

Genji hummed, stepping in and throwing himself back into one of the dilapidated seats.

“Perfectly safe. We’ve been using it to get down the gorge for over a year. G- sorry, the sheriff. Did some tests and reinforced it in a few places. It’s all good.”

 

Hanzo was too focused on the metal panelling, only half hearing Genji. The workmanship was sublime- nearly impossibly so. It was absurdly advanced, certainly tech like this wasn’t out for commercial purposes yet. 

 

“As for where it came from, well... No one’s really sure. It was just sort of here one day. Buried in the ground like it’d been here for years.”

 

Hanzo stopped, his fingers stopped on their exploration of a piece of welding so precise it looked as though the metal had been  _ just barely  _ touched against a pool of lava.

 

“Are you being serious?”

 

He could  _ hear  _ Genji smirk.

“Would I bother with such a ridiculous lie?”

Hanzo spun, brain working a thousand miles a minute as he took in the precise details of the train. 

“But how could that happen?”

Genji’s shirt rustled- a shrug. Hanzo was being drawn into a colorful image on the roof of the train- without a single brush stroke or a visible spray of paint. A buffalo skull on an expanse of red fabric, two pistols crossed behind it.

“Jesse sometimes says that reality is fluid here. The way he talks about it sometimes reminds me of- ah, what’s that thing you studied in college? The universal wavefunction? Schrödinger's cat?”

Hanzo tore his gaze away from the symbol, looking back to Genji.

“The Many-worlds interpretation?”

Genji snapped his fingers, nodding.

“Yeah. that.”

Hanzo stared at him. Genji grinned back.

 

“Are you yelling me that you think that- that stuff from parallel universes just... _ drops _ in here?”

 

Genji’s letter had mentioned that he’d find an interesting ‘application of his field of study’ here, but then again, Genji had never been clear on what Hanzo’s field of study actually was. He’s refused to listen to anything beyond “science.”

But this.

  
This was absurd.

Genji just shrugged.

“It’s a good a theory as any.”

“It’s- it’s completely preposterous! Once parallel universes diverge they only become further and further apart! Even just theoretically. There’s no precedent for-” Hanzo gestured at the symbol, then at the walls of the train. “-For THIS.”

 

Genji shrugged, standing and brushing off his shorts of the dust that collected on every surface.

“That just means you’ll be even more famous for discovering it. Now come on, I’m craving some pie.”

 


	5. The Panorama Diner

 

The Panorama Diner was a blaze in the darkness- approaching it, Hanzo felt like he’d been lost a long time and spotted a fire from afar. Friends? Foes? He hadn’t quite made up his mind. 

 

Genji didn’t share his reticence, practically skipping up to the door and flinging it open with such enthusiasm that Hanzo winced, sure it would shatter.

 

But nothing happened but the loud clang of a bell, and a tired voice calling out-

“‘Oy! Easy on the bloody door!”

“Sorry Lena!” Genji called back cheerfully. 

Hanzo stepped up beside Genji, and he patted him on the back.

“My brother finally got my letter, so it’ll be a table for two today.”

“Cheers to that. ‘allo, Hanzo.”

“Greetings.”

Out of pure habit, Hanzo bowed. 

The woman whistled.

“What a gent! I’ll get you two the booth so you can talk. C’mon!”

Hanzo lifted his head in time to get a better assessment of the woman- lena- as she picked up the menus. 

Spiked brown hair stuck up in all directions from the band of black goggles fixed firmly over her eyes. She wore an oddly torn red jumpsuit, a beat up brown bomber jacket hanging loose around her thin shoulders. 

The rips in the fabric shifted as she turned her back on them to lead them to the table. Underneath was a velvety black- too deep to be any fabric Hanzo could name. If he looked long enough, it seemed as though there were stars twinkling in an infinite distance.

 

He looked away. 

 

Lena made sure they were settled and then went on her way, whistling. Hanzo tried not to watch her go and failed. There was a tear in the back of her jacket- along the shoulder. By any laws of sense the red fabric of the jumpsuit should be underneath, but instead there was the same velvety black. This time Hanzo could see it clearly- a faroff supernova. A star burning in an infinite void. 

 

“You’re barking up the wrong tree there, Hanzo.”

“Hm-?” Hanzo shook himself out of his trace to look back at Genji, who just grinned.

“Lena runs the diner with her lovely  _ wife _ .”

 

It took a moment for Hanzo to realize what his brother was implying, and another moment to sort through his confusion. 

_ Right. Genji was long gone before I realized. _

He picked up the menu.

“She isn’t my type either.”

“What’s your type then?” Genji was grinning even wider. Hanzo waited for him to take a sip of his water before he spoke.

 

“Men.”

 

Genji reacted exactly as expected, and Lena came running back with extra napkins.

“Honestly Genji! You’d think after listening to Jesse all day you’d have known that.”

 

That gave Hanzo a start, and apparently he was losing the ability to keep his emotions off of his face, because Lena winced.

“Sorry love, hypersensitive hearing.”

“No not- Well that as well, but what was that about-...”

“Jesse?” Lena grinned, leaning in conspiratorially (Hanzo was unsettled by how opaque her goggles were, even at this proximity), “he’s got a sense for these things. Nothing goes on in town without his knowing about it.”

“But-” 

“Oh, and gaydar. You know how it is.”

“...right.” Hanzo had never disassociated before, but right now he was perfectly content taking his hands off the wheel and letting his subconscious run things while sanity went screaming in the opposite direction. “Can I try the lemon meringue?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a piece of invisible pie to anyone who got the reference (with lena) right away
> 
> if you don't, don't worry about it, because I'll cover it more in detail later on (but if anyone is tracking episode references, this one is 79: Lost in the Mail)


	6. The Municipal Preventable Death Toll

The decision was cemented in his mind by the time the last of the pie was gone from his plate. Genji was right- he was, above all, a scientist- and this was a goldmine for study across practically every field. He’d have to get lab space, make a few calls-

 

Perhaps Genji knew him better than he knew himself, because his brother passed Hanzo an envelope as he nonchalantly slid the check underneath the sugar packets.

 

Hanzo tore open the envelope, resolutely ignoring the sound of swallowing coming from the disappeared check. Let that be a later study (or ignored entirely for the sake of his sanity).

 

He blinked at the paper in his hands.

It was a  _ deed. _

 

He looked back up at his brother, eyes already asking the question his mouth hadn’t formed yet. Genji just grinned. 

“I knew you’d need a lab. So I took care of it. Come on, let's get you set up.”

“You- what??”

 

Genji was already halfway to the door, leaving Hanzo scrambling after him.

“Genji-”

Genji waved cheerfully to the woman in the googles and blew out the door, Hanzo struggling to keep up.

“Genji you work at a record shop!”

“Yes? And?”

“And-” Hanzo managed to catch up to Genji, still walking nonchalantly along the road next to the gorge, “-and how can you afford to buy me a lab, working at a record shop??”

Genji shrugged.

“I can’t.”

 

Hanzo stopped, suddenly derailed. Genji just grinned at him again. 

“But someone did talk to the security council about the importance of science in a community and the preventable death toll last year to get funding. So you’re all set for whatever you need.”

 

For a brief moment there were dollar signs floating in front of Hanzo’s eyes. Then reality came crashing back down around him.

“The  _ WHAT _ toll?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!! 
> 
> sorry this is so short, I was having some trouble getting back into the swing of it and needed an interlude, so here we are.


	7. The Fatality Index

It was 3am, and Genji was asleep in a ratty armchair in the corner of the lab. Hanzo was still wide awake, at a severe metal desk that had been thoughtfully provided by the “security council.” The chair was a matching set, cold and uncomfortable, but Hanzo was cemented to it, the city records spread out in front of him. They weren’t the originals- those were in the “Hall of public records” which had it’s own three pages of death statistics. These were copies- over a hundred handwritten pages in a precise handwriting that could have almost been mistaken for print were it not for the slight curls at the edges of letters and the fact that they were written on dot-grid paper. 

 

Once he got through these, which would be well into daylight hours tomorrow at the least, he was going to have to get the contact information of the writer. He wouldn’t have believed they were accurate at all, but the information was simply too precise to be anything but a perfect copy- and they matched perfectly with a few memorials and written warnings he’d seen around town. The map had given him pause- it was different, not from the public record but the writers compilation of death statistics marked on the layout of the town. There were several places where it spiked for seemingly little reason. They were explained of course- the author was unerringly precise- but in the margins it was noted that anything in red ink “Should not be discussed publicly, on phones, or near windows. Thought Crime.”

 

Normally he’d have scoffed at “Thought Crime”, but anywhere with a “secret police” unit was probably entirely willing to pursue prosecution well beyond the furthest extent of the law. 

 

The entirety of an area marked “Deadlock Shipping Company” was  _ entirely  _ in red. Varying shades, increasing in intensity the closer it got to a a cavern entrance. 

It was also marked, very precisely, with fatality numbers that spiked the closer it neared to the cliff wall. 

 

The author had also marked the numbers in term of percentages of people who approached. The door had a 100% fatality rate, though no one seemed to get beyond it. 

 

Disturbing. 

 

Hanzo pinned the map to the wall, and continued working through the papers, marking down areas for future study in order of most to least fatal. The entire time, a voice kept gibbering in the back of his head- disregard, disbelieve, doubt, deny. But he had seen a woman made of starlight. He had seen technology alien to this version of reality. He was, himself, host to spirits. There was no room to question the only precise set of data he had- not now. Not until he could get his own. The shipping company- though the most potentially interesting field of study- was also the most dangerous. He needed to understand what was happening with these areas before he could think of a safe (or reasonably safe) way to study them. He finished his list, pinned it to the wall, and started on another piece of paper, jotting out next steps. Go to just outside the ‘thought crime’ range for the shipping company. Interview local town members. Take chemical composition readings on the train car. Interview the Waitress from the Panorama. Get profiles for the town members to establish an irregularity baseline. Talk to the copy writer of the documents. Reluctantly, he moved that to the bottom of his priorities. He needed to verify their data before he knew how useful it would be to talk to them. He jotted down a few other locations. “Old Man Morrison’s” house was marked with dots of red, though there was another note- “Secret police cannot/will not enforce re-education within the fence boundary.”

 

Another interview, then. First, The Panorama. Then, Old man Morrison. Drive by the red range for the Shipping company.

 

Keep the radio on, just to help establish an irregularity baseline. No other reason. Hanzo’s stomach did a little flip, thinking of the roll of Jesse’s voice. 

 

No other reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not think about the shipping company. No packages will be delivered to the shipping company. there may be leather bound figures near the shipping company. do not look at them. Do not go near them. This has been a public service announcement. 
> 
> Who wants to take a crack at guessing who our copy writer is? their Nightvale or Overwatch equivalent XD


	8. Sailing on

Hanzo was conflicted.

He was somewhere between regret, every decision he’d made that led him up to this point at the least; and absolute manic glee. Science. Discovery. Worlds, literally, beyond any made before him.

 

The certainty, beyond doubt, that no one would believe him. 

 

The waitress (Owner? Co-owner?) sat across from him, her goggles off. Her eye sockets were empty. No. Emptiness. They were emptiness.

Faint, in the void, the glimmer of starlight- only partial. She put the goggles back on, and Hanzo was left for a moment in a stupor, blinking as though blinded. 

 

She grinned.

“Sorry love. I know it’s a bit much.”

“It’s- sorry. Incredible. What is that?”

“What am I, really.” she looked unbothered, but Hanzo nearly flinched at his own rudeness. Too personal.

“Don’t get that look, love, it’s alright. I- we? We’re the void. Just a bit of it, in the suit of a woman who’s, well. I don’t know if i’m dead, really. I think some might think of me that way. A bit of sky pretending to be a girl who fought in a war she didn’t understand and had no way of winning. But I’m still here, really- so the important thing is the progression.”

 

She tapped her goggles with a gloved hand.

“If a ship is sailing and by the end of its voyage every plank has been replaced, it’s the same ship. Or so ‘Em thinks. Good enough for me if it’s good enough for her, really-”

 

“I’m sorry-” Hanzo was trying to keep up, losing the thread every time a new detail confounded him.

“...what war?”

 

“The blood space war, of course.”

  
“The what?”


	9. Angels are not real and only tell lies

Hanzo was driving a little faster than was probably, strictly speaking, _safe._ A war. A war beyond human understanding. An organization that continued to fund it in a cheerful pursuit of nationalism. A war to paint the stars red.

  
He didn’t understand it. He _couldn’t._ Lena had fought an idea- a force that would take you over the moment you let your mind begin to doubt. She didn’t remember it well, but she had longed for home, forsaken her desire to be a hero and something....something had happened. And she’d been flung from the ship, forsaken, infected, and...

And as she began to die, she called out into the dark for Emily. For home. And something had answered her. And then....

And then she had come home.

No one else ever had. They held her up as proof that they could win.

And Lena had tapped her gloved fingers on the table, and scowled.

_Be careful who you trust here. Everyone who supports that cause wants something out of it. And it’s nothing good._

She’d leaned in, her googles opaque and still, and whispered as though her survival hinged on her caution.

 

_Beware the reaper. He doesn’t know what he does, or why._

 

Perhaps it did.

 

The house on the edge of town brought him back into his mind. A white-haired old man was standing on the front porch, and Hanzo felt again the uncanny sensation of someone looking him right in the eyes, even through the windshield and across the distance. Hanzo almost wanted to drive past it, a little embarrassed. But Old Man Morrison clearly knew he was coming, and that would be rude.

 

He pulled in.

 

The minute he passed through the fence, he slammed on his brakes as something flared into existence in front of his car.

It was-

It was-

 

The radio flared to life.

_“And as always, this is your daily reminder from our dear counsel- Angels. They don’t exist. And if they did, hypothetically, mind you, they would only tell lies, and it would be very illegal to acknowledge them or give ‘er change at the bus stop when she’s forgotten to get a ride home._

 

_The angel of mercy, hypothetically, of course, needs to carry some quarters. Because it is not illegal to accept money while not acknowledging it’s source._

 

_That’s just good business.”_

 

A hand reached in the window, and Hanzo did _not_ jump, because his first instinct was to lunge for a sword that he no longer kept at his side, and even the thought made him queasy. He stayed very still, and the pale hand switched off the radio. When the hand had moved away, Hanzo very carefully turned and got out of his car, not looking too closely at the woman in white who had hopped up onto the hood of the car he’d borrowed from Genji and was tracing the dragon decals with fingertips that were just barely translucent.

 

“You don’t have to avoid looking at her. They don’t bother with that here. Gabe n’ I have an understanding.”

 

Hanzo looked up to the porch, where a white haired old man was looking at him through a pair of amber-tinted reading glasses. He held his cane like a man who was letting the barrel of his gun rest on the ground.

 

Hanzo’s brain was still misfiring ( _ANGELANGELANGELANGEL_ ) but he had come here to ask questions.

“...I am sorry. Gabe?” That wasn’t quite what he meant to ask, but a fair start.

 

“The sheriff.”

The angel let out a little huffing sound, and Old Man Morrison waved her off.

“He’s not as bad as all that, Angie.”

 

Hanzo opened his mouth to ask more questions, but he was fixed with that amber stare, and something pricked at the back of his mind. He blinked, and the world around him shifted.

 

A much younger man, with a ridiculous handlebar mustache, pulling off a helmet and grinning. 

 

“ _ Run the stunt circuit much, son? You’re pretty good.” _

 

In another flash a blind man whose eyes had lost their color (blue, once. Somehow he knew they’d been blue) held an amber eyepiece in his hands, a dark hallway around him in painted metal. And he opened his mouth, and he said-

 

“Son? Are you alright? Mercy, have a look at him.”

Hanzo blinked. He was on the ground again. The face of the angel was above him, blonde hair hanging around her face. Her wings arced over him, blocking out the light. She said something he couldn’t quite understand- a sound like windchimes and rain.

“-- -----”

Old Man Morrison grunted.  
“You know, ‘he knows’ isn’t very helpful.”

“----- --- ---- ---- ---- -- --- ---”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life.”

“--’- -----”

Old Man Morrison looked down again.

 

“Well if you’re going to faint in my yard you might as well faint on my couch. Come on inside. I get the feeling there’s a lot we need to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY FOR THE FUCKING DELAY
> 
> it's been a very long school year a very long summer and now I am back in classes I am in the swing of things I am good we're gonna DO THIS THING


	10. Ready to listen

Hanzo accepted a cup of tea and a string of bells that sounded like chiding from the angel as he sat down on the couch. She frowned at him, and he smiled apologetically.

  
She seemed to take that as a fair enough response and went back into the kitchen, a moment later pushing Old Man Morrison of it. He was holding a tray of scones in his hands, and he set them on the table with a small bowl of clotted cream next to them.

  
“___ ___ _____”

 

He grumbled, but looked to Hanzo. 

“She says you should use the cream.”

  
“Oh.” Hanzo managed. He took a tentative bite of the scone as he reached for the cream, and tried to keep his expression neutral as the few crumbs of scone absorbed all of the moisture in his mouth. If his slathering of clotted cream on the scone was rather generous before he took his next bite, the old man didn’t seem inclined to call him on it. 

 

Old Man Morrison ate his own scone without any, staring off into space for a moment before he sighed and brushed the crumbs off his legs. 

 

“Alright. Down to business. You’ve talked to Lena, Hana, McCree, and Genji. Of those, only Lena and Genji have given you information worth moving on, and Genji got his from Satya. You won’t believe what Satya has to tell you, coming to talk to me first probably won’t help that much, but visit her this evening. Olivia is home, and she’ll show you the proof. That all?”

 

Hanzo’s mouth hung open, and he could only stare in stupefaction at the old man squinting at him from behind his glasses. Morrison grimaced in a way that was probably meant to be a smile. 

 

“Fantastic. Good talk. Mercy, can you get the door for-”

 

Several things happened at once. There was a sound in his ear like the fuzz between channels, and the frantic sound of bells collapsed like a tower of wine glasses into accented English-

 

“-You’re terribly rude! Honestly Jack, can’t you be nice the first visitor you’ve had besides that blasted creature-”

 

And a radio, somewhere in the house, switched on. 

 

_ “Angels. They do not exist, and they only tell lies. Of course. The regulatory council in charge of greater Grand Mesa would like me to remind you, although of course you already know. Now, hypothetically speakin’, I bet most of us wouldn’t even be able to hear those lies. Funny thing that happens- kids, you know ‘bout this- when you’re in class. The teacher starts speaking, and you don’t want to hear it. It just...fades. The words become nothing. Now, in a manner of speaking, we’re all nothing sometimes, and everyone is nothing to us. Sometimes. But if you really want to learn- you’ll listen. To the teacher that is. Don’t be listenin’ to angels now, and if you see them, well. You’ll have to talk about that to one of the nice docs in the watchpoint. Don’t worry about scheduling an appointment. _

 

_ They’ll find you.” _

 

The radio switched off again as Old Man Morrison went rumbling after it, and the angel clicked her tongue.    
  
“Jesse hid it in the walls somewhere. He won’t find it.” She looked to Hanzo, raising her eyebrows at his expression of shock.

 

“Ah, was that message for you? 

 

Hanzo, unsure of what to say, just nodded. The angel smiled.

  
“Ah, what a relief. You’re ready to listen. That will greatly extend your life expectancy. Unfortunately, I do believe that Jack is no longer in a-” 

The sound of wood splintering came from upstairs.

 

“-receptive mood. Would you like me to walk you to your car? I can show you where to find Satya’s house.”


	11. Lines and Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it came to my attention that the way I did the visions was confusing, since we're all aware of overwatch canon, and I fixed them! maybe. Updated flashes in chapters 3 and 9, first meetings with Genji and Jack. *why* they're happening is plot stuff, but what they *are* are visions of alternate histories, and since I used canon as one of the alts, I think it may have been confusing. Genji's fine. He disappeared long before the elders would have had him killed. (and the history shaped the shimadas a bit differently, in ways I will hopefully get into later)
> 
> Thanks so much for your patience! hopefully this is clearer.

Hanzo’s head was settling out, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Outright denial had been his last shield from the pure unadulterated insanity of this place, and now that it was gone he wasn’t sure what he was left with. One more stop, and he could go back to the lab and....think. Just one more stop.

 

He got into the car.

 

The drive to Satya’s house was mercifully short, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about the sensation of eyes on him, and the revelation that, once again, he’d been expected.

 

There was a woman sitting in a rocking chair out front. She looked serene, a blue gem on a chain resting on her forehead. 

 

This time, Hanzo managed to get out of the car before the vision hit him.

 

___

“Symmetra?” A woman in blue, a visor over her eyes, lifted a white prosthetic and aimed a pulse at his chest.

_ “I am sorry, but I have calculated the odds. You are going alone.” _

 

She shot force at him, and he fell-

 

He hit the ground at the feet of a magician, falling out of a trick box, a crowd laughing, and she bent to offer him a hand. Her face was shadowed, for a moment, by the brim of her hat, and her bow-tie was all he could see for a moment, as she said-

 

“You really ought to stop doing that. It isn’t good for you.”

 

The town slotted into place again at an angle that dizzied him. The woman was in front of him, in a blue cotton dress. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail. She was bent over him, because he was on the ground again. 

 

“-Symmetra?”

  
“No. Not here.”

 

She held out a tissue, and Hanzo blinked at her, uncomprehending for a moment. She clicked her tongue in disapproval.

 

“Your nose is bleeding.”

 

He went to touch his face, and she smacked his wrist.

 

“Take the tissue. Do not spread the blood.”

 

He took it, chastised, and pressed it to his nose.

 

“...Satya, then?”

 

“I know you are more clever than this.” 

He snorted, only cringing a bit as the blood in his nose blocked the air.

 

“I am taking in a lot right now, if you wouldn’t mind forgiving me.”

 

She looked up at the sky, and he would have thought it was a sarcastic gesture, but her eyes crossed the horizon opposite to the setting sun in lines, back and forth, tracing something.

 

“Yes. I suppose you are. Forgive me, I had not considered the traumatic effect of so many crossings in so short a time.”

 

“Crossings?”

Satya tipped her head, looking to the sky again for a moment.

 

“I suppose you do not experience them that way. They must be quite intrusive. Once you have met everyone they may slow. Or they may intensify? I suppose the course may vary. The lines say it depends on your choices. But, ah. I am being rude. Come inside. My wife is making dinner, and I suspect she will invite your-”

 

She stopped. Tipped her head.

 

“-no. Not yet. She may invite your love interest.”

 

“My  _ what. _ ”

 

Satya stood, fluid, and offered him a hand.

 

“There is no use in denying that, I know I have it right. Come in. We have much to discuss.”


End file.
